


Winter Has its Upsides

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mistletoe, Titan Marco Bott, a little more than frienship kissing so thats why teens and up, based off the gift recipient's writing actually, but maybe erens just being reeeeeall friendly, jean is a conflicted ball of sass, some hinted eremin, um lets see, up to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean recently realized he had feelings - of the romantic kind - for his friend that he had only just begun to interact with again. So, instead of trying to pursue them, like most normal people, he decided that it would be better to avoid both them and Marco.</p><p>With a little help from Mikasa, he started up a new hobby and soon enough, his... feelings turned around and used that hobby for their own devices. </p><p>It was Marco, in the very end, that sorted things out once and for all. No more avoiding each other, thank God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Has its Upsides

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Acadjonne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acadjonne/gifts).



> HERE YOU GO FRIEND
> 
> I WANTED TO MAKE YOU A GIFT AND I THOUGHT OF YOUR "NOT SO GENTLE TITAN" AU AND I THOUGHT THAT MAYBE YOU WOULD LIKE SOMETHING BASED ON THAT
> 
> SO HERE IS THIS
> 
> I HOPE YOU LIKE IT, I HAD FUN WRITING IT FOR YOU
> 
> \--
> 
> This AU, is actually not my own, it is Jonne's, actually. It might, perhaps, make more sense if you understand the AU, so I suggest that you either read their fic (which I will link to whenever they post it) or visit one of our tumblrs and ask us about it/go through the [tags](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/tagged/shifter-au).
> 
> Also! What I write here is more of an AU divergence of their AU, so what happens here is not exactly what happens in the actual fic. Their mindsets will likely be a little different and their actions will not follow like this, so keep that in mind when going to read their fic (which you should definitely do).
> 
> Thanks for reading!

One thing that Jean had noticed was that when everyone had spare time, they all seemed to do their own things. Everyone (in pairs or groups it seemed) did something different, of course, but it was all… interesting, to a degree. A lot of times, Jean mostly watched what people would do. Sasha and Connie would share stories about their home towns, go for jogs and otherwise keep active, or just wander around the small town nearby. Mikasa, Eren, and Armin would all mostly lounge in the grass, Armin reading his book aloud to them and pointing out things as Mikasa braided or fiddled with his hair (or Eren did the same to Mikasa’s), while Eren played around with the grass. Those free moments were the only times that he could be found not talking or planning about titans and the news of things that had recently happened, but he was still obviously thinking about it. That much showed in the way his fingers would tear out grass by the roots when they weren’t splayed across Armin’s thigh or tangled in Mikasa’s hair.

 

In fact, when the flowers bloomed, he would tie and weave them together, creating a huge ring of plants to set upon his friends’ heads. Sometimes Armin would even stop reading to make smaller ones for their fingers, Mikasa twisting them into their clothes and hair, tucking them between each of their ears.

 

Jean was more than interested - and since he was spending time away from everyone else (since they all seemed to push him into making friends - which he was now, truly, but lately it had been… hard... to be around _him_ \- with _Sleeping Beauty_ ), he decided to find out how they did it.

 

A few days after finding out his new desired way to keep himself busy, he found the perfect time to act on learning how to twine flowers. As he was walking to the mess hall, he spotted the group just ahead of him when he turned a corner, Eren animatedly talking about _something_ to Armin, who was listening  enthusiastically, Mikasa lagging just a step behind.

 

“Mikasa! Do you have a moment?” he shouted without really thinking about it, which was probably a bad move. She spun around, as did the other two, and Jean quickened his pace to stand in front of her, opening his mouth to ask about the flower stuff while Eren sighed something under his breath.

 

“ _This better not be another damn confession about her hair_.”

 

Scowling, Jean didn’t even look at the other as he told him to fuck off (to which Mikasa tensed at), still staring at her. He glanced at the ground for a second before keeping eye contact as he lifted his hand into the air unconsciously, “I wanted to, uh, ask you something.”

 

This was awkward. He would have asked Armin, but he also didn’t want Eren to think he was hitting on him or something (Eren seemed to be oddly touchy with the boy lately - well, more than usual, Jean guessed?) and fuck if he was going to ask Eren about something so… personal and intimate as the plant braiding. That just wasn’t something he felt he could talk to him about, yet (they were _soldiers_ , after all, they _all_ had to become close at some point if they wanted to live).

 

Raising his eyebrows, the brunnette watched as Mikasa moved closer to Jean, and away from himself and Armin. She drug her scarf just a little ways away from her neck, creating an empty space between it and her neck, before whispering, “Is this about Marco?”

  
“What? No!” At the name of the other, Jean couldn’t help the light dusting of pink that spread across his cheekbones and his eyes flickered away again. A bolt of guilt and anguish went through his chest like an arrow, but he shook it off, trying to focus. He couldn’t even believe that she - well, actually, he could. Mikasa could be quite blunt about things. A quality that many found interesting and inspiring in her, but annoying and unnecessary in himself (granted, maybe it was only annoying because he straight-out said many things he thought, rather than Mikasa, who kept her mouth shut a lot of the time). “No… No, ah, I just wanted to ask about the flowers.”

 

“Flowers?” Her eyebrows furrowed slightly and Jean shifted his weight onto his other foot. Eren rolled his eyes as if he put it all together himself (the wrong idea, however) and Armin elbowed him in the ribs. He looked a little appalled at the action from his friend and sent a hurt look as he rubbed the spot. Jean was tempted to roll his eyes as well. That little action was _obviously_ for show.

 

Catching that she didn’t quite get what he meant, Jean tried to explain as he wrung his hands, like they were the plants he wanted to string together, “Y’know, like when the flowers come out and you guys all sit in the grass? I wanted to know how you all made those little… flower hat things.”

 

Silver eyes, the color of their blades, softened and after a jerk of her head to the two watching them to carry on without her, she gave a small smile. “Yeah. I can show you how to make some flower crowns.”

 

* * *

 

Once he figured out just _how_ to create the damned things, Mikasa left him to fiddle with them. He was horrible at creating the “crowns”, but he at least knew how to - which was all she really promised on what she was going to show him. The flowers sometimes kept untwisting, which would ruin the whole thing, and some would wilt earlier, especially if he messed with that particular flower too much. He would have to find different patches of flowers because he would use so many as he practiced and with winter coming, those patches were beginning to dwindle in number.

 

However, with winter and the dying plant life, Jean found _other_ things to use, which in turn actually made his crowns a lot more stable, if perhaps, less attractive.

 

Sure, they weren’t as colorful then, with only yellows, oranges, and whites to mix with the green base of his crowns instead of reds, purples, and blues, but he still felt proud when they stuck together, even after he set them around each of the horses’ necks. In the winter, with the newer plants, they were bulkier, less soft, and sometimes prickly. They made better crowns and hats, but weren’t as pretty. Getting the materials and finding empty, isolated places to create the crowns made him realize how the air was starting to chill, how his fingers would need to be shoved under his legs more often, but his pastime, flower crown making, was worth it.

 

Over time, as he started to yearn for his old friend again, much like he had after graduation, he found a reason better than “passing time” to create them, better than “practice” or even just a simple “excuse”.

 

Using his teeth to pull out a thorn from one of the rose hips’ stems out of his thumb, as his free hand was busy holding together the twining of some wild onions, Jean realized that there was one person in particular that wouldn’t care about the less offering choices of flowers, the muted colors they provided. One special person would love a crown, perhaps especially if made by Jean himself.

 

He pushed that thought away, fingers gripping the smooth stem of the burdock tightly enough to accidentally snap it farther up than he meant to.

 

Nevertheless, his troubles with the plants aside, Jean figured if anything he could apologize with a gift.

 

After all, Marco had always liked plants, hadn’t he?

 

* * *

 

Once he found a small area where holly was growing and he learned how to incorporate them into his crowns well enough, he decided that it was time to talk to Marco. Er, tell him he was sorry (which wouldn’t be that easy? It wasn’t like Jean only spilled his food or something). _That fell under talking, right?_

  
Shaking his head to clear it of such silly thoughts, Jean gently placed his gift atop a bundle of his shirts before using the edges to wrap them around, covering the large ring of plants completely. Slowly wrapping his fingers around the outer edges of it through the fabric, Jean lifted the crown to his chest and shifted his grip to cradle it, hoping to _god_ that no one would be running through the halls. If someone bumped into him and crushed it, he swore he would do the same thing to their face . He had been working on this one crown for _days_ , often skipping meals to get more time to himself. His fingers were sore from the repetitive motions he had been making and the tips of them were red, a few with little, brown spots where he had been struck by a thorn of some kind.

 

Leaving his little safe haven of crafts and picked flowers, Jean did his best to move swiftly, darting passed doors and down corridors, feet moving him outside and hopefully towards the stables. That was usually one of the most private places, and he wanted to give Marco his crown and speak to him… in private, as well.

 

It just wouldn’t do if he could hear someone laughing, or feel someone staring - aside from Marco, of course, but he wouldn’t laugh, he couldn’t laugh -

 

He better not.

 

He’d break Jean’s heart and that was so _stupid_ -

 

Marco wasn’t going to laugh.

 

If he heard a giggle or felt a _different_ pair of eyes on him, Jean wouldn’t be able to go through with the whole mess. Not even if it meant that Mikasa would be _oddly_ proud of him like she was his mother or something, or even that Sasha would quit bothering him about the boy, not even if it meant Marco accepting his apology, either. Because if someone was seeing his train wreck of whatever he was about to attempt then that’s exactly what it would become - a trainwreck. Jean… He just couldn’t - if they knew it was a horrible, horrible mess then Marco would, too and he just -

 

There was no way he could handle Marco _seeing_ that he was falling into shambles because of this.

  
Wallowing in his train of despair, Jean nearly ran into a wall - having only been saved by small, firm fingers gripping his shoulder and jerking him back. He stumbled backward, feet tripping over themselves at the sudden movement, eyes wide and wildly in search of who saved him from turning into a pancake (a crepe, perhaps?). Upon seeing the short, dark hair, he curled his arms in on himself, pressing the crown more securely against his chest and swallowed.

 

“Were you crying?” Mikasa asked, voice soft, but still holding that solid tone on it, almost dependable. She didn’t reach forward to wipe at the tears that were likely on his face or press her palm against his cheek like she might’ve with Eren or Armin - like Marco would’ve done -

 

 _Stop_.

 

He swallowed again and turned his head from her, looking at the wall he almost smacked into. His own voice was rough, maybe from his throat wanting to explain the terror of his thoughts, but not quite able with his lips tightly shut. “No.” It was a croak, but it was defensive and already he could see that she _knew_.

 

Though she kept to her place, not stepping forward, not outstretching her hand, only moving to adjust her scarf as she had when he had talked to her before, she still kept him in place, held there by her eyes, the gaze he could feel cold against his skin, something he couldn’t have on him when he talked with Marco later. “Is this about Marco?” It was the same thing she had said then, because it was the same as it was with the two boys - tense and uneven.

  
_When is it not?_ He wanted to say, possibly with a nervous chuckle or a bitter smile. Instead he frowned, taking a _stupid_ , shaky breath, the aftermath of leaving himself to the corrupt ideas of his head. “No.”

He knew that he hadn’t convinced her, but she didn’t push - at least, not in that direction. Mikasa was too caring, she wouldn’t just stop pushing anything at all. “Is that a flower crown?” She pointed to the bundle of his shirts in his arms, watching as his arms tightened against it when it was brought up.

A pause, not any different from the ones before the rest of his answers before. Yet, he decided, there was nothing he would really lose from telling her. “Yeah.”

“Is it for him?” _Him_.

_She knows_.

“Yeah.” He still couldn’t look at her.

Shifting feet, Mikasa pressed again. “Have you given it to him yet?”

“No,” his answer was slow, as was the turn of his head and his eyes, where he finally held his gaze, eyes as different as they could be. Hers, the color of the stones of their buildings, calm and hard, with their own touch of gentle somewhere, the same gentle that came out in her voice. His, brown, so off and strangely colored that it was almost orange, that Marco often told him kind of looked like fire from back home, rims reddened, too vulnerable to even be discussing this.

  
She made a noise of consideration before she stepped off, whispering good luck as she thumped his shoulder once, disappearing again, with final words echoing down behind her, “Don’t run into more walls, Jean.”

 

* * *

Even if it was stupid to believe that he would be gone - he was _Marco_ , after all - when Jean came back, it didn’t stop the thought from forming in his head. He was only going to be in the stables for a few moments, climbing to the secret little cache in the rafters he had found when searching for a nice place to keep himself hidden while crafting, but… But Marco could be gone by then. Jean, in his place, probably would be, himself.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

If it was _Marco_ who he was waiting on, then no. He’d stay there forever and die of frostbite or something for that boy.

Anyone else… If it was anyone else then he would probably go back inside. It was cold out, after all.

Sliding down from the rafters with a _thump_ , Jean disbanded those thoughts and pulled himself together with a deep breath. He gave himself a few seconds to just relax and prepare himself before stepping outside and going around to the back of the stables, bundle of his shirts in his arms, against his chest. His heart was pounding and it was still a little hard to believe he was doing this.

 _  
_ Even though he wasn’t… confessing or anything.

 

Just…

“Here,” pushing the bundle forward, Jean swallowed hard, willing himself not to squeeze his eyes shut, but unable to look at his friend. He would have just shoved it into his chest, but he didn’t want to smash the plants inside. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

Thank God he was still there. Why can’t his heart stop moving for once around this guy?

He wished _that_ part of him would fucking get frostbite.

“Jean… This is…”

Except, not really because it honestly felt so good when the rate of its pace tripled in speed and his face heated up because of:

  
“Beautiful.” Marco’s words were a gasp of breath, like they were things that had escaped without his knowledge. Looking up bashfully, Jean was surprised, in awe, to see that Marco was staring down at opened bundle, where his shirts lay drooping off his arms, the flower crown settled perfectly between his palms and forearms. “I…” He trailed off and Jean said nothing, just watching him stare down at his gift, trying to calm his shaking fingers that came from noticing the look of adoration in those dark, almost black eyes. They always deepened in color in the winter.

 

Marco’s hands were soon moving, trying to balance the crown as well as collect all the shirts, his gaze turning upwards to look at Jean (who’s eyes widened at the redding on the tips of his cheeks, the pure _delight_ that rang out all over his face, the _excited_ , _childish grin_ that nestled onto Marco’s mouth). “Jean,” he paused, stepping forward, and Jean shivered at the sound of his name through the puff of warm breath. “Can… Can you put this on me?”

 

Thrusting out the open bundle, Marco seemed eager to follow the way Jean’s eyes would dart between his hands, _Marco’s_ hands, and Marco’s _eyes_. “Can I hold the shirts? I don’t want to drop and dirty them.”

 

He was perfect.

 

Unable to do anything but stare up at him in astonishment for a few moments, Jean finally found himself nodding and busying himself with taking the crown, head down, lest Marco find out that just the look in his eyes was about to bring him to tears. With a quiet breath that was entirely too shaky on his lips, he gently gripped Marco’s present and lifted it up, avoiding Marco’s chocolatey eyes as he slowly set it on top of his head and -

 

… promptly watched it slip farther down, falling around his collarbones and threatening to slide down his shoulders like a shirt that was too wide for him. Eyebrows furrowing, Jean tried not to frown. It was… too big, obviously, but… How could he have made it _that_ much bigger than the size of his head?

 

Nearly jumping at the breathy chuckle Marco released, Jean finally found it within himself and looked into his face. He couldn’t tell if that was a bad decision or not. Not even when Marco whispered, quieter than necessary, “Sorry, it’s just that the look on your face was very cute. You looked confused.”

 

“That’s because I am,” answered Jean as he found himself caught in the way that Marco’s eyes seemed to absorb his reply. He couldn’t tell where his pupil ended and his iris started, yet his eyes seemed to only get darker and… the way that they pursued each of his tiniest movements - the bobbing of his throat when he swallowed thickly, the flutter of his lashes at Marco’s laugh, the twitch of hands upon learning he was being watched so carefully, the way Jean’s face subconsciously tilted itself closer to Marco - made him… made him…

 

Made him nervous in the way that _wasn’t_ partly _scared_ . It made him jittery, his intakes of air less stable than before, his feet unsteady and wanting to be closer, (inching forward against his consent), his hands aching for contact - _skin_ contact -  his sight suddenly able to take in more details than before and -

 

He looked away. “Confused, I mean.” Not cute. “I thought I had made that smaller. Or that your head was bigger.”

 

 _And Marco looked like he wanted to kiss him_.

 

“Maybe you should take measurements next time,” Marco laughed, again, his words no longer soft and quiet like promises, more neutral and natural and things Jean could always expect of him.

 

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Jean raised his eyebrows. “Next time?” He slowly turned back to look at him, a small grin on his face. Though he was still pink-cheeked, Jean felt comfortable and _normal_ . “You say that as if I’m going to make you another one.” Marco giggled more and Jean waited for him to finish before poking him in the chest, smile growing, and continued, “I’m not giving you _charity_ , Marco.”

 

“Of course not.” His voice, while soft, was not like it was when he was staring down at him with those full, seductive eyes. Jean found himself thankful, for if it was, his poor heart would likely have gone out. “But I’m just saying that I think it’s called a flower _crown_ , not a flower _necklace_.”

 

Mock frowning, Jean poked him again, harder than before, and swiped his shirts into his own arms when he noticed how they threatened to fall out of Marco’s arms from his jerky laughter. It was only seconds before his grin came back, bubbling onto his mouth, incapable of being suppressed.

 

* * *

 

“ _I have an idea,_ ” he had spouted, probably from no out of nowhere, before wadding his shirts tighter into a small ball, biting back a grin (that probably shone through his eyes anyway) as he stepped back, resisting the urge to laugh at Marco’s ridiculous bewildered, crestfallen look. “ _Stay here._ ”

 

“ _Come with me,_ ” was his next line, minutes later when he came back, clothes hidden away in their hiding place for him to go back to later. “ _I know a… place._ ” He had waited, just long enough for Marco to start the motions of a nod, before jumping to race ahead, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Marco was following after him.

 

It had taken them more than just a few minutes to get to the place Jean was talking about, a place on the other side of the forest, just on the edge of the trees, a place secluded and quiet, just what Jean needed. He turned to Marco, ready to instruct him on what to do, ready to tell him his idea, but was caught off guard by the way he looked at him - like earlier. Earlier, as in the eyes of a starless night, earlier as in the rate of his heart - something that rivaled the speed of him whisking through the air with his gear, earlier as in when they almost got too close and Jean had just barely stopped whatever was supposedly about to go on.

 

He swallowed, throat too thick to feel so dry, but he couldn’t move his feet or turn his head, couldn’t save himself from Marco’s misinterpretation of the situation. Nothing in his body would fight the compelling draw that Marco’s lips held, not even when the taller boy stepped closer, arms slowly moving to encircle his waist. It was like his body sided against him, following the order of his _heart_ \- that was stupid and cheesy but Jean just couldn't find another way to describe it - instead of his head, _himself_.

 

Licking his lips, he found that at least his mouth wouldn’t resist his force at least and that was what he could use to stop this; “Don’t kiss me,” even if it came out in a blurted whisper, as he couldn’t even gain control over his voice, not entirely. _Damn it_.

 

Marco froze, hands not even touching Jean yet, barely even brushing against his shirt, where his body heat could just barely be felt, like a tease of warmth - what he _could_ be wrapped in, if he so chose, if he gave in to his urges. “What?” It was breathless and broken, much like the gaze of shattered glass he had given him earlier when he had stepped away, even if he couldn’t now.

 

Unable to look up at him, to see his likely hurt expression, Jean glared at his chest with as much irritation as he could muster up. It honestly bothered him how easily Marco could go from barely talking friends that were either avoiding each other or being avoided, to attempting to seduce each other in the brisk, lonely winter air. “I didn’t take you out here to make out, you know.”

 

He knew his scathing words were probably too harsh, but it wasn’t something he was willing to put effort into fixing. Marco knew he was an asshole, already, and dealt with him anyway. It was all he knew, as no one seemed to be ready to help him grow, to help him learn to try and mature.

 

Looking up as he awaited Marco’s response, Jean could feel himself shaking, could feel himself cold where Marco’s heat used to linger (he had pulled his arms back, even if he hadn’t stepped away). He saw that Marco was thinking he was like a leaf; if a large gust of wind blew at him that he’d just drift away, lost and gone, fragile and broken. It made his brows furrow as he dug his heels into the ground as if to stabilize himself, mouth twisting horribly as he tried to gather himself and croak something else at him like a fucking frog. He wished that Marco had rather scolded him and hit him over the head instead of that loving, caring study on himself and:

 

“I know.” Stop whispering, damn it. “So, what did you drag me out here to do then?” He cracked a smile and it only made his fingers curl into a fist at how easy it looked, like nothing was wrong, and that Jean wasn’t causing so many problems that he couldn’t - wouldn’t - fix on his own. “I hope you’re not making me pick all the flowers that you used. I was teasin’ you, I actually really like my neckla- my crown.” He was babbling.

 

“No…” Jean answered slowly, fingers flexing rapidly as he did his best not to shout at Marco, to push him away again. He was supposed to be apologizing.

 

Oh.

 

Oh yeah.

 

The thought deflated him and he could finally move; swiveling his head to look at the woods they were still standing next to, to cross his arms over his chest, feet pushing so hard against the dirt beneath him that he supposed if he stopped putting so much pressure on them suddenly, then he would spring a small distance into the air, like he had jumped.

 

He almost wanted to laugh, that was so stupid, but the presence of the boy in front of him, so patiently letting him think, squashed that desire. He felt nervous, in that weird away again.

 

No matter how often he called his feelings weird, they never seemed to go away and he still always knew exactly what they were and what was going on inside his chest, unfortunately.

 

Taking a deep breath, Jean continued to keep his eyes on the trees, calming himself by admiring the twists of dead, leafless branches. He made sure to sigh and allow his breathing to return to normal before he went on, telling him exactly what he had brought him out for, “I gave you that crown to apologize.” He could feel that Marco was working through what he said, as quickly as he could so that he would be able to respond, but Jean was already speaking again, making sure that didn’t happen. “But I’m not going to. Because, I know that you’re going to find some stupid, but still valid sounding reason to say you’re fucking sorry as well and I don’t want you to. I also know,” he looked at the ground, then, right between their boots. “That you won’t just accept my _remorseful propositions_ -” he cracked a grin at his own words, his joke, pausing a second just to smile before he continued, “Either, so I’m not gonna.”

 

Silence fell, dancing among the empty trees and mixing with the soundless wind that skidded across any patch of uncovered skin, chilling it and forcing reds and pinks to surface at their skin. Jean guessed that his nose was already red, as if he was sick, because it definitely felt as so. His cheeks were, of course, he could tell. Not just because they were warm, or because of the cold, for that matter, but because he was starting to blush, and the longer this wordless moment went on, the more lightheaded he felt.

 

At least a minute from then passed before the breeze finally did something useful and carried Marco’s voice to him, allowing him to break his bubble of self pity to stare up and recognize that Marco’s own cheeks, whether from the frigid air or something else - it didn’t matter, because Marco has always looked good in shades of red and his reply wasn’t upset in the least.

 

It, his reply, was better, wonderful enough to ease at Jean’s guilt and bite at the corners of his lips, fighting them to turn upwards.

 

It was a simple, sunny, “Okay.” that was accompanied by a dazzling, though small, yet so (thankfully) real _smile_.

 

* * *

 

Sappy moment over with, Jean had introduced his plan; having Marco shift into his titan form so Jean could slide the crown on his bigger finger like a ring. He explained that that was why he had brought Marco so far out (definitely not to make out, see) and to the middle of nowhere. That way, they wouldn’t be seen or bothered when he shifted.

 

At first, Marco had seemed wary about the situation, unsure of his idea. He tried to bring up all these other equations, like if they were really far enough out, what if someone caught them, if what would happen if Levi found out-

 

Unsurprisingly, all Jean had to do to change his mind was offer up a deal.

 

“Look,” he had started, interrupting Marco’s weak protests with an irritated pinch on the bridge of his nose. “If you do this for me, I’ll do something for you, got it?”

 

That had Marco’s attention, but he wasn’t convinced. “What would you do for me?”

 

“I… Anything.” He rolled his eyes, slowly crossing his arms, “Whatever you want, I don’t care. Just shift already. And don’t eat me by accident.” He warned that exact message almost every time Marco transitioned to his titan form and it seemed to work, as he was still alive.

 

After that, Marco had grinned, perhaps a little mischievously by Jean’s standards, but it only took him a few minutes to find a “purpose” to shift. Jean had given him a few moments to adjust, watching such large, brown eyes blink so sluggishly at him, focusing in on everything. He looked so dopey and tired in his other body that it threatened to make him laugh each time he saw him.

 

“You can hear and understand me, right?” He asked, shifting the crown on his arms. “Nod your head if you can.”

 

The titan did just as asked.

 

“Alright, so just lower your fist slowly, we don’t need you creating a fucking crater, Marco, and let me into your palm.” Marco had paused in his crouching when Jean scolded him, shooting a puff of steam from his mouth at the sass before going back to getting in position. Crawling onto his hand, up his fingers and settling between his index and his middle fingers, Jean looked up and told him to curl them, just a little, so he could slide the gift onto one.

 

Still, even when curled inward, he wasn’t close enough. Sitting up on his knees on the edge of Marco’s palm, he leaned forward to press the ring of flowers to the edge of his fingernail - why the fuck did titans even have those? - and tip it over. It fell, sliding down to his knuckles when Marco straightened out his fingers and Jean watched it settle to a still point before spinning around, still on his knees. Marco’s eyes barely had to shift, moving not far from the flower ring in its fixed place to the boy in his hand, staring up at him, waiting for him to do whatever he planned next, since he now had the shifter’s attention.

 

Shooting him a soft smile, Jean tilted downward until he was parallel with Marco’s palm and briefly pressed his lips to the heated skin, careful not to burn himself.

 

Marco let out another cloud of steam as he blinked again, but Jean heard the way his chest rumbled lowly (though not too quietly), almost like a purr.

 

* * *

 

The amount of mistletoe inside the headquarters was honestly overwhelming. Jean didn’t know who put it all up (though he had his assumptions) or who even allowed it, but it was starting to bother him. Still, he had learned where every little patch was hidden and avoided them, definitely focused on not getting caught under them with somebody. He walked alone wherever he went (every hall trapped in at least one place) and the second he saw or heard anyone else he would either slow or quicken his pace that way they wouldn’t be under it at the same time.

 

That said, it always took him a little longer than the rest of the guys to get to the dorms. He was sure that if the rest of boys noticed they were caught under the stuff they would just ignore it and move on, but he didn’t want to take his chances. Especially not with the way Marco had been eyeing him since they got back from the woods, waiting to make good on his end of the deal.

 

Jean was quite surprised when it wasn’t a kiss that Marco wanted, to say the least.

 

By the time he got in, most of the boys were dressed for bed and just conversing quietly as a few jumped under the covers, eyes shut even with the lamps not yet put out. When Jean finally got changed and under the covers it was dark and voiceless, only the sounds of shuffling sheets and squeaking bedsprings breaking the silence.

 

After a few moments of trying to get comfortable, Jean jumped, making the bed squeak when a muscled arm shot out and wrapped around his waist, tugging him backwards into a hard chest. Even if he had been expecting it, Jean still let out a small, short gasp at the action, looking over his shoulder to glare at the culprit. All he got in return was blank stare and the grip around his waist tightening just barely.

 

Instead of a kiss, Marco had asked that Jean sleep in the same bed as him, claiming that he had missed his snuggle buddy. Jean had promised him anything he wanted, so he couldn’t really argue against it, even if he did end up dreading the ending of the day.

 

With a huff, Jean did his best to get comfortable once more, held tightly against the warm, strong body behind him, thick thighs curling over and between his own, a head of onyx hair burrowed into his neck, breathing hot air against his skin. It made him squirm, which only led to Marco’s hold on his shirt pull him closer in attempt to calm him. However, it worked, kind of. He was still at least, but his heart certainly wasn’t. That sucker was pounding twice as much as it usually did, even just around Marco himself.

 

Wide eyes starting to revert to their normal state as his heart began to calm down, Jean stared into the dark as he focused on getting his breathing back to normal. He was thankful that Marco barely shifted about, thankful that he didn’t move too much and cause Jean’s heart to speed up again at the reminder that he was so close. He was thankful that Marco was actually letting him sleep, regardless of the fact that he wouldn’t let him do it without being trapped in his arms.

 

All good things must come to an end at some point, Marco apparently decided for absolutely no reason at all.

 

Suddenly pushing himself off of Jean, Marco untangled their legs and instead used those powerful limbs to press Jean flat across the bed, pinning him down and caging him in with his elbows as he stared down at him, still blank-faced like before. The fucker wasn’t even out of breath or sweating - he acted like it took nothing to hold Jean down, unmobile. Jean, in the meantime, had squeaked, jostled a little, but otherwise hadn't tried to break his grip. It wasn’t like he didn’t trust Marco and besides, he knew Marco wasn’t going to let him go unless he was severely uncomfortable with his actions, hurt in that position, or done with whatever he was doing. Even if he wouldn’t admit it, Jean was neither of the first two and it didn’t look like Marco was the last.

 

Watching as Marco’s expression changed, hardly visible in the little strip of shimmering moonlight that sparkled down their bunk, Jean’s breath left him in a hurried rush, akin to a punch in the gut (which was something he could definitely attest to).

 

Marco was smiling at him, which would’ve been normal (weird, maybe, to see him doing it in that position and at night) if not for the fact that it was so sickly sweet. It looked much kinder than Marco’s already usual nice, simple smiles. In fact, it looked so pleased and happy that it struck Jean as… fake. And it certainly didn’t fit the train of thought that was flitting through Marco’s head if the way his pupils swallowed up his eyes were anything to go by. Those colorless orbs made Jean shiver with the implication that they gave him.

 

Marco looked like he wanted nothing more than to just hold him down and -

 

“What are you _doing_?”

 

Pupils shrinking just for a second, Marco didn’t move but quietly answered, “Look up.”

 

Doing so with obvious confusion written on his face, his eyes widened again, not only with surprise, but realization as well. The last thing he saw before Marco’s lips were on his own was the tiny spring of stupid _mistletoe_ and its ugly, pale green-yellowish color.

 

He let out a noise of shock, fingers fluttering beside his sides, unsure of what to do aside from clench and tangle themselves in the bed sheets. Marco and his mouth didn’t move at the sound - and instead his lips opened, narrowly, and pressed their softness harder against Jean’s own. At that, he gave in, hesitantly tilting his head back and pushing at Marco in return.

 

At Jean’s movements he slowly eased himself downward until he was resting above him, chest actually touching Jean’s own, their body heat only separated by two, thin layers of cotton. Slowly guiding him through the movements, he helped Jean’s hands find their place along his broad shoulders, opening his thin, pale lips unhurriedly with his much redder ones.

 

Jean, rolling his eyes under hooded lids, found it entirely too silly for Marco to go through such a hassle just for a kiss (and promptly ignored the fact that he had been avoiding those lips the whole day anyway) as he looped his arms around Marco’s neck, tugging him closer and reveling in the _mph_ that was released into his mouth.

 

After a few moments of just moving their open lips along each other, letting out breathy sighs, and breathing into each other’s mouths - Jean was pretty sure he had swallowed some of Marco’s spit - Jean nervously inched his leg up and around Marco’s waist, not yet pressing down and holding him against himself. Marco let out a small groan, partly out of surprise and maybe (Jean hoped) out of pleasure too, before reaching back and tugging Jean’s leg closer to his body, which _did_ press them together and -

 

Eyes widening at the sudden bolt of what honestly felt like lighting - but _good_ \- that went through his torso, he let out the most embarrassing sound he could possibly make. That was by far, the most submissive fucking sound that likely _anyone_ could make. It wasn’t part of the plan to be in the position he was in now - Marco was supposed to be the one wooed by his kisses, not the other way around. Yet, the more time he spent with Marco’s lips attached to his own, the more he realized that it was probably okay. Probably.

 

Pulling away, Marco looked down at him, leaving Jean confused as to why they stopped. Oh shit. Was he turned off by Jean’s moan (oh god that still actually happened, he couldn’t believe it)? With pinkened cheeks and puffy lips, Jean reluctantly glanced up to see the look of disgust and shock in Marco’s face.

 

Instead, he saw more _want_ than the time behind the barn and next to the woods combined, something with a touch of affection and - Jean squirmed a little, feeling oddly pleased, but at the same time terribly embarrassed - _pride_ . God, and he was staring at Jean’s _mouth_ , which had become _reddened_ and _swollen_ and Marco was so proud of _that_.

 

He was such a loser (but Jean couldn’t bring himself to say it, much less think it more than a second or two - after all he did just make out with said _loser_ ).

 

Grinning like a… _dork_ , Marco ducked down to swiftly peck Jean’s mouth, smile widening in amusement when he tried to follow after the kiss, attempting to initiate another make out. Marco’s mouth moved passed Jean’s own, moving to place quick kisses along his cheeks, his nose, his jawbone.

 

It all left Jean _giggling_.

 

It should have been dumb, really, to be so happy and filled with giddiness by the little, quick and fluttering presses of Marco’s lips against his skin, but it _wasn’t_. He wasn’t embarrassed by the wide smile that grew with each little spark on his skin, or the shuttering, breathless gasps of happiness he let out in proof of his enjoyment. He was embarrassed, however, by:

 

“Shut the fuck _up_ , Jean.”

 

Eren, who's exasperated tone dragged out the word _up_ and was muffled by likely his pillow. All in a second, his little bubble of contentment came crashing down around him and left him drenched in numbing shock, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on him. They weren’t alone.

 

They… There were other boys in the room, listening to them kiss, to Jean laugh, to him _moan_.

 

Marco likely felt him tense. At least, that would explain the way his hand immediately flew to cover his mouth that threatened to spill the pure, fiery rage that swelled in place of his humiliation. Jean’s arm was already moving to yank his hand off of him when he heard a series of a _thwump_ , an exclamation of pain, and Eren asking what the fuck that was for.

 

A twinge of satisfaction swirled in his residing anger upon noticing that it was Connie’s pillow that smacked him when he heard, “You were the closest one and if I have to fucking lose another night’s sleep to you two bickering again I am going to hit you again and again until _you_ shut the fuck up.”

 

Glancing up at Marco with a tiny smirk he could obviously feel against his palm, Jean tilted his head back to stare up at him. Marco’s hand gently lifted itself off of him before being replaced with his lips, which mouthed out the whisper of, “I’m so proud of you for not arguing back.”

 

Smirk turning into one of delight, Jean gave a soothing hum of acknowledgement as he moved to twist his arms around Marco’s neck again, stilling in mortification when Connie’s voice rang out once more.

 

“And if _you two_ start fucking, I won’t hesitate to walk over there and beat you with this pillow until you both decide to become celebates.”

 

After that, the only sounds that really remained were ones of even breath, snores, and squeaks from the bedsprings of Eren’s tossing and turning.

 

The next morning, Jean took Marco for a trip around the building, showing him where to “avoid” the hanging, seasonal plants. They had some free time, after all, and Jean's fingers were still red and they still ached.

 

His lips did too, but that ache was totally different and something that Marco was especially good at helping with.

 

**Author's Note:**

> maybe they will one day get their mistletoe kisses/bed make outs who knows
> 
> THANK YOU [TheFullMidgetAlchemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFullmidgetAlchemist/profile) FOR BETA'ING THIS SUCKER EVEN THOUGH YOU WERE REALLY BUSY I LOVE YOU
> 
> My tumblr is [here](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Acadjonne's is [here](http://acadjonne.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays


End file.
